My Wedding Day
By MICHAEL KRESS
Od yishama b'arei Yehuda, u'v'chutzot Yerushalayim. kol sasson v'kol simcha, kol chatan v'kol kallah.
At traditional Jewish weddings you hear this line from the Prophets a lot. Over and over, boppy, infectious tune and all. It's a prophecy about the redemption to come, a reversal of the misfortunes the Jewish people were facing at the time: "There will yet be heard in the Judean towns and outskirts of Jerusalem, the sound of joy, the sound of happiness, the voice of groom and of bride" (Jeremiah 7:34). It is the quintessential Jewish wedding song, and it is fitting for more than its upbeat melody and scriptural reference to the married couple. In intertwining the mood of the bride and groom with the communal mood of Israel, the line sums up the wedding day wonderfully: It is your day, bride and groom, but you are still part of a family and community.
My third anniversary just passed. On July 1 of 2001, Stephanie and I were married in Beth El Synagogue in New Rochelle, New York. Though the ceremony started around 4:30, our invitations asked our guests to arrive at 3, and not only so they could partake of the smorgasbord, but because some of the rituals, customs, and ceremonies of the Jewish wedding start even before the members of the wedding party take their first steps down the aisle. Here are some of the highlights of the day.
The festivities kicked off with something called a tisch. This literally means "table" in Yiddish, and indeed, it involves a lot of people sitting around a table. Traditionally, the tisch is the groom's territory, but Stephanie, like a growing number of observant women, had a tisch of her own at the same time. At a tisch, people offer words of inspiration and Torah, and documents are signed, including the ketubah, or wedding contract. The groom—and in our case, the bride—offer a d’var Torah.
Stephanie's ended first, at which time her friends and family members danced with her—singing that Od Yishama song—to the main smorgasbord room, where she was seated at a throne-like white chair for the kabbalat panim, which means, basically, reception. Guests line up to greet the bride and offer her their wishes. But the crowd of guests parted when my friends and family members danced with me—singing that same song—to greet Stephanie.
The most moving and memorable moment of the entire day took place at that point. Our friends lined up facing each other and held hands high in the air, as if they were playing "London Bridge is Falling Down." I walked through the tunnel they created and saw my bride for the first time during the ceremonies of the day. I was there on business--a ritual called the badeken, which means "veiling," in which I put the veil over her face. One tradition has it that the badeken was instituted to prevent a repeat of Jacob's story in Genesis: He was supposed to marry Rachel, but his veiled bride was actually Rachel’s sister, Leah, and he found out only after the wedding was over. I made sure it was actually Stephanie on that chair before putting the veil on. Despite the focused attention of the crowd around us—not to mention the lenses of the photographer and videographer—it was one of the most intimate moments of the day, as my future wife and I had a moment to look each other in the eyes and exchange a few words of love before I put the veil on her and was whisked away.
Finally, it was time for the actual ceremony.
It may surprise you that the Jewish wedding ceremony is actually made up of two ceremonies: erusin and nissuin. Erusin is actually an engagement ritual; it used to be held months before the wedding, but today is done under the huppa. It consists of two blessings, a sip of wine by the bride and groom, and the giving of the ring by the man to the woman with the words, “Harey at m’kudeshet li b'taba'at zo, k'dat Moshe v'Yisrael,” translated as, “Behold, you are consecrated to me with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel.” The woman accepts the ring, and some women recite a similar line indicating their acceptance of the engagement.
Then the ketubah is read and often the rabbi speaks. Our rabbi was also a close friend of ours, and he offered moving thoughts on the meaning of love, using a favorite Jewish text he had us read in the months we were preparing for our big day.
Nissuin, the actual wedding ceremony, then begins. It is actually quite short, and as our rabbi pointed out to us, the couple has no active part in the bulk of it, which consists of the seven traditional wedding blessings. Couples honor those close to them by assigning friends and family members to recite these blessings; nissuin, in essence, is the community's acknowledgement of the new relationship and its sanctification of the marriage. At the end of the blessings, the bride and groom take another sip of wine.
At this point, Stephanie gave me a ring, another modern custom that is growing in popularity. (Some people exchange both rings at the same time during erusin; many others, for complicated reasons of Jewish law, do the second ring separately and later, as we did.)
Finally, it was time to break the glass. There are various reasons offered for this strange custom, but perhaps the most common one is that since the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in the first century CE, our happiness cannot be complete, so we break a glass to commemorate that bit of sadness that infuses every happy occasion. To us, like to many Jewish couples, the breaking of the glass symbolized the brokenness not just of Jerusalem, but all the many problems in the world, in Israel, America, and elsewhere. It symbolized our pledge to try together, to make the world a little bit better.
As my shoe came down on the glass, making a satisfying crunching sound, everyone yelled "Mazel tov!" Stephanie and I embraced as husband and wife, before kissing our parents and our new parents-in-law, our siblings and our new siblings-in-law. With that same song playing, we were then ushered out of the room by our friends, singing and dancing.
As our guests streamed out of the sanctuary, we took a detour for another tradition: yichud, literally unification. The wedding is not complete until both the public ceremony and a private moment have taken place. The bride and groom spend a few minutes alone in a room, reflecting on what just happened, sharing their joy—and grabbing a much-needed bit to eat. (Traditionally, couples fast on their wedding day until after the ceremony.) In the hubbub of the wedding day, yichud provided a meaningful quiet moment to reflect and share the momentousness of the day with my new wife.
That was the last moment of quiet we would experience for the next several hours, because after the yichud, the reception starts. Traditional Jewish weddings tend to be anything but staid or decorous. When the bride and groom enter the ballroom, the guests greet them, start dancing—and seemingly don't stop dancing until past the time when the band packs up and leaves. Playing a series of Jewish tunes—traditional and modern—the band sets the mood, and the guests' spirit pervades the room. Often, guests bring confetti, streamers, funny hats or masks, and other "props" to increase the joy.
The Talmud compares the bride and groom on their wedding day to a king and queen, and it is the guests' job to make the couple feel that way. It is a mitzvah to make the couple happy on their wedding day. Often, guests will hoist the bride and groom up above their heads on chairs and parade them around. Sometimes, they don't bother with the chairs—one friend put me on his shoulders and danced me around for much longer than could possibly have been comfortable for him.
During the dancing, the bride and groom will often be offered seats next to one another, and the guests assemble in a circle around them, leaving the center of the circle open. Different guests will then enter the circle to juggle, dance, stand on their heads, perform short skits, show off other talents, and do most anything that would entertain the couple. And, of course, the dancing pauses now and again for a multi-course meal, accompanied by toasts and speeches.
It is an understatement to say that a wedding is a day of heightened emotions. Jewish sources say that the wedding day is a kind of Yom Kippur to the couple getting married, a day for introspection, repentance, and a start to a new life. It is also a day for outsized joy and unparalleled celebration. It was a day that I wanted to hold onto forever, but the important part—living as a married couple—lay ahead. Three years later, I can say that my wedding day was the perfect start to the best thing that has ever happened to me: spending my life married to the woman I love.
Reprinted with permission from the AVI CHAI Bookshelf, where birthright israel alumni can order free books and periodicals.